


I do

by Rothelena



Category: The Mentalist
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-06
Updated: 2012-06-06
Packaged: 2017-11-07 02:02:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/425681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rothelena/pseuds/Rothelena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jane and Lisbon tied the knot... as Lisbon vanishes from their wedding reception, Jane goes looking for her...</p>
            </blockquote>





	I do

She was as beautiful as a pure, glittering diamond, and he would never tire of looking at her in several lifetimes.  
He touched his shiny new wedding band and let a moment of bittersweet memories wash over him. Of course he would never forget Angela and Charlotte, they were forever embedded in his heart. But he could let go of the pain now, and he released it on a soft whiff of breath. He smiled gently.  
He knew he was almost absurdly happy today, the feeling bubbling up inside him like a fountain, filling him up to the brim. She was his. But what was almost more important: he could finally be hers.  
No more reservations, no holding back. He had mastered his fear, his cowardice. He knew he had hurt her plenty those past months, when he had always hesitated, never dared to be really open about his feelings. She had been patient and gentle and an endless source of love and support. She had risked everything for him. Had taken an enormous leap when she had chosen to love him in the first place.  
This night was her reward. It was just for her, he had decided that long ago.  
Not that little Teresa had been very happy in the beginning: it had taken her what felt like ages to choose a dress, not because she was vain and picky, but because she felt so uncomfortable in anything sporting a skirt that you could read it on her face.  
He had told her that he didn’t mind if she celebrated in Levi’s and one of her “woman in charge”-blouses, but she had just frowned at him- if there was one day which even Teresa Lisbon would face wearing a dress, it would be her own wedding day.  
She had finally chosen a simple, breathtakingly beautiful dress made of white silk: floor length with spaghetti-straps, no petticoat, no pearls, no jewelry. She wore her long dark hair open, flowing over her slim shoulders, and his heart clenched with love whenever he looked at her.  
His love, his future, his woman.  
He was in serious danger to behave like a sappy old fool today, but hey- this was his wedding, so certainly all the women would find him terribly cute if he cried.  
And he had cried when she had walked down the aisle, so beautiful he could just stare at her. He couldn’t believe she was his. Forever.  
Meanwhile, the party was in full swing. He had chosen the mansion of an acquaintance who owed him a considerable amount of poker money as location for this special event- it was huge, directly at the beach, and had a wonderful garden with a giant greenhouse towering in the background. It provided a fitting level of luxury for his precious bride- the woman he fully intended to spoil rotten tonight.  
He took another sip of champagne, politely laughing at another joke Rigsby couldn’t hold in (the younger agent was mighty tipsy by now and maybe should call it a night) and turned slowly, scanning the room for the most beautiful woman of the evening. Huh?  
He could swear she’d been close only a few minutes ago.  
He gently shook his head, placed his glass on the tray of a passing waiter and went looking for her, a sweet smile on his lips.  
Teresa Lisbon Jane was nothing of a party mouse, so he had a pretty good idea where he would find her.  
The greenhouse was very warm and gloomy, only some low watt light bulbs illuminating the wafting darkness. A full moon shone into the full-length windows, bathing the scenery in additional silver highlights.  
His breath caught when he saw her, his throat tightening with the familiar heady mixture of longing and love.  
She sat on one of the low tables, her profile to him.  
Her creamy skin glowed in the moonlight, contrasting warmly with the white of her gown. She had pushed the skirt up over her knees, revealing the graceful slope of her slender calves. She had taken her shoes off.  
He sensed an exasperated groan coming from her when she saw him approaching.  
“Already fed up with me?” He chuckled.  
She sighed.  
“Pretty much the contrary, actually.” She whispered.  
His heart beat accelerated, every throb vibrating all through his chest.  
She had suffered so much for him. Had supported his relentless search for Red John even when it had meant forgetting all about herself. She had battled jealousy and hurt to assist him, to be there for him. And finally, she had shot his nemesis to keep him alive.  
All those months, she had been afraid to lose him. To death, to his mission, his obsession. The vengeance he couldn’t let go. Now she deserved to know that she owned him- that he pledged his life to her. There was no Patrick Jane without her.  
He lifted his hand to touch her beloved face, trace her pale, full lips with his thumb. So plump and kissable, he could hardly resist.  
“Can’t let your hands off me, huh?” He said. “Teresa, you signed a contract. And it includes undressing me in front of 150 law enforcement officers, if that’s what you wish.”  
“Forget it, Jane,” she growled, “I’m not making out with you in front of Madeleine Hightower and my team.”  
“Well,” He whispered, his fingers sliding over her throat to her breasts, “There’s no one here now, my sweet.”  
She trembled when he kissed her lips. The gesture was supposed to be gentle, coaxing, just an offer she couldn’t refuse, but his own hunger for her overwhelmed him, and he knew she could taste his lust on his lips.  
Her tiny hands slid up his chest, pressing the silk of his shirt against touch-hungry skin, and he growled softly like a big cat in heat. She spread her legs for him and he gladly stepped between them, her breasts flattened against his pecs in a second.  
He whispered her name in reverie, already feeling her fingers pull on his bow tie. She unbuttoned his shirt until it gaped to his navel, her hands stroking, tickling, petting until he squirmed in her arms, so aroused he couldn’t see straight.  
Her breath was warm on his face, sweet and pure, her skin so tempting he slowly licked over her jaw, showered her throat with kisses.  
He wanted nothing but offer himself to her like a gift, the only one he could truly give her. She had allowed him to be her universe for so long, now he would do the same for her, pay her back for every single tear she had cried. At least he would try with all his might.  
He threw his head back and allowed the ecstasy to suffuse him, panting sharply when she opened his fly and touched his raging hard-on. It quivered in her hands, knowing to whom it belonged.  
Her fingernails scratched over his flat stomach, heightening the sensation until he almost lost his footing. His moans got louder and louder, there was no way he could stop them, he felt dizzy and greedy and addicted, his hands touching her everywhere he could reach.  
He could feel the shudder coursing through her body when he let his fingers slide beneath her dress, grazing the light blue garter she wore for the occasion. Without stockings, which were far to flimsy for her liking.  
“This is awfully sexy,” he whispered, “you sure we can’t keep it?”  
“It belonged to van Pelt`s grandma,” she chuckled, her voice breathless with arousal, “but you can always buy me some sexy lingerie if you’re really intent on seeing me in something like this, I guess.”  
He growled low in his throat.  
“I’m looking forward to that.”  
He touched his fingers to her wet panties, but she grabbed his wrist.  
“Oh no, my love,” she whispered, “If you think you can ravage me in my wedding dress now, let me tell you: not yet. It’s my turn first- I wanted to do this all day.”  
She sank to her knees in front of him, her dainty hands sliding over his legs, pulling his pants slightly down. He groaned when she licked her lips in anticipation, damn, he wouldn’t last two minutes, hot as he was.  
He had learned in the past months that Teresa Lisbon was one of the few women who genuinely enjoyed giving head, and he gave in gladly, letting her have her wicked way with him. Her tongue licked over his hard, burning hot flesh and he groaned so loud he was afraid he would make the windows rattle.  
“Don’t worry,” she whispered against his skin, her breath vibrating on his length,” I won’t get your beautiful smoking all dirty.”  
And she swallowed him as deep as she could, the sensitive tip of his cock hitting the back of her throat. His knees buckled, and he put both hands against her shoulders, fighting to keep the touch soft and gentle when he felt anything but.  
She obviously didn’t want to take prisoners tonight, she sucked on him with all her might, her cheeks hollowing under the force of her ministrations, he felt orgasm approaching fast and battled his own body to hold it back. He wanted to spend the first load as a married man nowhere but inside his beloved, wanted to feel her coming with him when he finally gave in, but she didn’t make that an easy task.  
She released him and started to lick again, her soft tongue grazing skin so hot and over-aroused he had to swallow his screams. She devoured him like candy, her huge, sultry eyes resting solely on him.  
“Mine.” She whispered hoarsely, and he nodded eagerly, unable to speak for the moment.  
She made a small disappointed growl when she finally got up, the sound made him even hotter. He wanted her to eat him alive, swallow him whole like a tasty snack. His lips where urgent and passionate when he kissed her again, his tongue deep inside her mouth in a second, the kiss warm and wet and hungry, tastes mingling into a delicious, heady cocktail both couldn’t resist any longer.  
He grabbed her hips and lifted her back onto the table, already pushing up her skirt, careful not to tear the delicate fabric, which wasn’t an easy job for the horny beast she had made him. Again.  
He wasn’t especially gentle with her panties, simply ripping the flimsy lace away from her body.  
“Yes,” she hissed, “please, take me now… I’ve wanted you like mad the whole day, even when we spoke our vows, dammit…”  
He groaned and pushed between her wide spread legs, shuddering when his cock touched her wet, welcoming flesh, her eyes begging him to make her his, take her so hard she could finally believe it.  
Believe that he wouldn’t vanish tomorrow, leaving her cold and aching, hunting the shadow that had tainted his past. He wanted to reassure her, repeat every promise he’d ever given and make it come true, work to make her believe it until he was bloody and torn inside and out, but he knew he needed a lifetime to do this.  
Red John was dead, and he was finally ready to bury his past. Embrace a future with her.  
“I love you,” he whispered, “and I promise that I will do everything in my might to become a man worthy of your love, angel mine.”  
And he shoved his throbbing length inside her, giving her the hardness she craved, slamming into her to the hilt. He filled her completely, her small, tight body struggling to receive him, the ecstasy made her eyes glow in the half-dark, her fingernails digging into his shoulders, sweet, addictive pain, he wanted more.  
A strangled gasp fell from her lips, she wrapped her legs around his waist, pushing closer to maximize the contact.  
Damn, she was so hot around him, her slick, wet walls sheathing him like a blazing fist, the grip so relentless and snug he couldn’t move for a moment. He mustered his strength at the small of his back, tensing his muscles all over, intent on giving his greedy little kitten a thoroughly good time.  
“I love you, Teresa,” he whispered once more, “and if I hurt you now, remember I do it from a point of love.”  
He felt her smile against his cheek. She knew full well he couldn’t hurt her, no matter how hard he took her, she was always screaming for more.  
“Do your worst.” She said, gently biting his earlobe.  
He took a deep breath and started to thrust in an almost inhuman effort. The friction on his cock maximized immediately, the sensation so mind-blowing he almost doubled over. He rammed his girth into her over and over again, always going to the hilt, his hands holding her still for maximum impact. His grip on her thighs, pressing them against his sides, was so hard he knew he hurt her, but she was begging him not to stop, her hands frantically searching for a firm hold on his body, head thrown back in nameless pleasure.  
He wanted to give her more, needed to hand her himself on a platter, show her that from now on he only lived to satisfy her, to see her love for him in her eyes.  
Feelings bubbled up so much stronger even than his screaming arousal, clotting his throat with their force. He loved her so much, it hurt, and he would suffer the pain gladly, for she had hurt so much more in the months, years she had been relentlessly fighting for him, battling the devil for his soul.  
But she had won, and he was hers now, his angel of light’s proud property. He vowed to never disappoint her again.  
He even sped up his thrusts, making her body shake every time he hit her utmost depths, their hips slamming against each other with almost bruising force, the wet sounds of sex loud in the quiet of their dark surroundings.  
His groans got louder and louder with every hammering stroke, her small frame poised in orgasm, he could feel it, his body so tuned to hers he experienced every sensation as his own. She did the same, he knew it, so much that she felt every single spurt of seed whenever he ejaculated inside her. He was close now, so close, his skin prickled with need and anticipation, he pulled her as close as possible, her body as taut as a bow string, her breath a relentless moan inside his ear, friction so strong they were creating pure heat, and he pounded into her, harder, harder, hips jackhammering as fast as he could move, he felt himself harden, lengthen inside her, her walls stretching even more for him, so tight, so hot, her strong muscles starting to clench around him.  
He gave in then, still thrusting while the climax crashed over him like a wave, her sheath contracting around him at the exact same moment, milking him for all he was worth.  
Always extremely vocal in the throes of his passion, he screamed at the top of his lungs, endless spurts of seed shooting into her, his hands pressing her hips against his to make her take more, make her stay, make her need him as much as he needed her. He was unable to let go, his helpless, frantic body thrusting fast and deep while he spent inside her, more and more, until she felt filled up with his juices, his essence as much a part of her as their hearts were of each other. He trembled and shook in her arms, emptying the last of him inside her, speechless, panting, submerged in sheer bliss.  
He could feel her mighty aftershocks quake around him and simply held tight, riding the wave with her, prolonging her release until finally, she stilled in his embrace, her face pressed against his bare chest, her lips parted, hot breath flowing against his skin.  
Her hair smelled like flowers, like warmth, like home, and he wanted to take her and go on their honeymoon right now, have her all to himself for six glorious weeks, just her and him, a huge bed in a tiny shack on a secluded beach with fine, white sand and turquoise, lukewarm water. Afterwards, he would take her to Europe and show her some truly wonderful things, her body close to his all the time, preferably in his arms. They would laugh together, eat and drink together, sleep together, start the rest of their lives. Together.  
He felt drunk with happiness, felt finally there, home, having reached his goal after years of drought and fear, feelings he couldn’t talk about, had to hide from her because he hadn’t been free, had needed to protect her from the monster lurking in the shadows.  
He was free now.  
He pulled her tighter, burying his face in the dark, silky flood of her hair, moved to tears.  
It took him quite some time to compose himself, but he forced himself to regain control. They owed this evening to their friends, the people who had endured the desperate times with them.  
“We should go back, my sweet,” he whispered, and she smiled, clearly loving his gentle, slightly old-fashioned endearments. He hoped he made her feel like a queen, because that was what she was - his queen of hearts.  
She pouted slightly when she lifted her head.  
“I know,” she sighed, “promise that you won’t leave me alone in a corner with someone I hardly know, forced to make meaningless small-talk. Please?”  
He chuckled. Yep, clearly the party animal, his little Teresa.  
“I won’t take my eyes off you for the rest of the evening, keeping you close to my side so nobody can steal you away from me. I promise.”  
She kissed him again, her lips so soft, warm, her kiss gentle and sweet before her naughty little tongue decided to join in, pushing into his mouth, renewing his passionate vigor in seconds.  
He pulled away from her on the flesh of his teeth, forcing his budding erection to subside. He had six weeks of more or less constant sex in front of him, six weeks just for the two of them, so surely he would manage to get a grip for the next five hours or so.  
He looked at her while he straightened his clothes, bathing in her beauty, the graceful movements of her petite body, hardly able to believe that she had actually agreed to become his wife. His wife. He looked at the ring on his finger, matching the one on hers. Slim and golden. Her name engraved on the inside. Forever in his heart. He swallowed and smiled when she came over to knot his bow tie.  
“How do you know how to do that?” he asked softly.  
She smiled.  
“I did it for three brothers on prom night.”  
She pressed a kiss on his lips and suddenly he needed to hear her say it, needed to have this bit of reassurance before he became his mask again, the façade he had learned to present. Teresa Lisbon was the only one who had always seen the man behind the image. Master con man that he was, he had never really tricked her.  
“You do love me back, Teresa, don’t you?” he asked almost shyly, and he knew his eyes were open and vulnerable.  
He wasn’t afraid any longer. She was his home, his shelter.  
“I love you, Patrick Jane,” she said honestly, framing his face with her hands. “please, my love- never doubt that I do.”  
He nodded slowly. He wouldn’t.  
And he knew he would fight to the end to make sure that she would never doubt his feelings, either.

The End


End file.
